


we were shadow and starlight

by shandy_and_champagne



Category: The Grisha Trilogy - Leigh Bardugo
Genre: Alina Starkov is Still a Sun Summoner, Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Artist Alina Starkov, Blood and Gore, Canon-Typical Violence, Dark, Dark Alina Starkov, I Wrote This While Listening to Florence + the Machine, Multi, My First Work in This Fandom, Plot Twists, Romantic Fluff, Sorry Not Sorry, Soul Bond, They rule the world together, nikolai is baby, no beta we die like men, she takes his hand in siege and storm, the author hates mal, the author really hates Mal
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2021-02-07
Updated: 2021-02-10
Packaged: 2021-03-12 14:41:10
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 3
Words: 8,956
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/29262165
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/shandy_and_champagne/pseuds/shandy_and_champagne
Summary: And she realised she knew. She had known all along this was exactly where she was meant to be. He knew it too. He had just had an eternity to come to terms with it.His face was stone, but his eyes were burning. With purpose, with possessiveness, with devotion.And it thrilled her to her core.She wanted it. Wantedhim."Alright," she breathed.
Relationships: Nikolai Lantsov/Alina Starkov, The Darkling | Aleksander Morozova/Alina Starkov, The Darkling | Aleksander Morozova/Nikolai Lantsov/Alina Starkov
Comments: 38
Kudos: 106
Collections: Grisha Trilogy





	1. Stay with me

**Author's Note:**

> I recently read the Grisha Trilogy in three days in advance of the Netflix show and even though I was expecting it, I was disappointed by all the missed opportunities, so I've taken it upon myself to write this.  
> I would like to note that I 100% envision Ben Barnes as the Darkling and Jessie Mei Li as Alina, the casting is *parfait*.
> 
> Disclaimer: none of the characters are mine and everything belongs to Leigh Bardugo. Chapter 1 has an overlap with the book but after that it's all made up :)
> 
> Perfect song for this chapter:  
> . The Christening - James Newton Howard

The building shook as a loud crack of thunder split the air. The chapel door blew to pieces. Tolya was thrown backward, and darkness flooded through.

The Darkling came borne on a tide of shadow, held aloft by monsters who set his feet upon the chapel floor with infinite care.

“Fire!” Tamar shouted.

Shots rang out. The nichevo’ya writhed and whirled around the Darkling, shifting and re-forming as the bullets struck their bodies, one taking the place of another in a seamless tide of shadow. He didn’t even break stride.

Glorious. Powerful.

Nichevo’ya were streaming through the chapel door. Tolya was already on his feet and rushing to Alina’s side with pistols drawn. Tamar and Mal flanked her, the Grisha arrayed behind them. Alina raised her hands, summoning the light, bracing for the onslaught.

She fought the hopeless dread that had sunk in her chest. She would go down fighting. She would not bend.

“Stand down, Alina,” said the Darkling. His cool voice echoed through the chapel, cutting through the noise and chaos. “Stand down, and I will spare them.”

In answer, Tamar scraped one axe blade over the other, raising a horrible shriek of metal on metal. The sun soldiers lifted their rifles, and Alina heard the sound of Inferni flint being struck.

“Look around, Alina,” the Darkling said. “You cannot win.”

She took in the nightmare of the chapel. The nichevo’ya swarmed above them, crowding up against the inside of the dome. They clustered around the Darkling in a dense cloud of bodies and wings. Through the windows she could see more, hovering in the twilight sky.

The sun soldiers’ faces were determined, but their ranks had been badly thinned. They needed a miracle from their Saint, one she couldn’t perform.

Tolya cocked the triggers on his pistols.

“Hold,” she said.

“Alina,” Tamar whispered, “we can still get you out.”

“ _Hold,_ ” she repeated.

The sun soldiers lowered their rifles. Tamar brought her axes to her hips but kept her grip tight, her features weary.

“What are your terms?” Alina asked.

Mal frowned. Tolya shook his head in warning. Alina didn’t care. 

“Give yourself up,” said the Darkling. “And they all go free. They can climb down that rabbit hole and disappear forever.”

“Free?” Sergei whispered.

“He’s lying,” said Mal. “It’s what he does.”

“I don’t need to lie,” said the Darkling simply. “Alina wants to come with me.”

Stunned silence.

Alina felt the twins’ eyes on her when she didn’t immediately contradict him.

“She doesn’t want any part of you,” Mal spat, oblivious.

“No?” the Darkling purred, a knowing gleam in his eyes. His dark hair was illuminated softly in the lamplight of the chapel. Summoning his shadow army had taken its toll. He was thinner, paler, but somehow the sharp angles of his face had only become more beautiful. “I warned you that otkazat’sya could never understand you, Alina. I told you that he would only come to fear you and resent your power. Tell me I was wrong.”

“You were wrong.” Her voice was steady, but doubt rustled in her heart.

The Darkling shook his head. “You cannot lie to me. Do you think I could have come to you again and again, if you had been less alone? You _called_ to me, and I answered.”

She couldn’t quite believe what she was hearing. “You … you were there?”

“On the Fold. In the palace. Last night.”

She flushed as she remembered his body on top of hers, determinedly pushing down the pang of... something that surged through her.

“That isn’t possible,” Mal bit out.

“You have no idea what I can make possible, tracker.”

She shut her eyes.

“Alina—”

“I’ve seen what you truly are,” said the Darkling, “and I’ve never turned away. I never will. Can he say the same?”

_No._

Alina blanched as her mind responded instinctively. Her eyes shot open, there was a rushing in her ears and she could barely decipher what Mal said next.

“You don’t know anything about her,” Mal said fiercely.

The Darkling wasn't phased. He only had eyes for Alina.

“Come with me now, and it all stops—the fear, the uncertainty, the bloodshed. Let him go, Alina. Let them all go.”

“No,” she said. But even as she shook her head, something in her cried out, _Yes._

And he knew.

The Darkling stood waiting, his shadow guard hovering and shifting around him.

She was afraid, but beneath the fear, she was eager.

“We are alike,” he said, finality in his tone, “as no one else is, as no one else will ever be.”

The truth of it rang through her. _Like calls to like._

Time stopped breathing.

"Stay, Alina," the Darkling held out his hand and she could almost convince herself that was a shard of desperation in his eyes, "Stay with me."

She looked back towards the escape route and hesitated again.

_Please_

The whispered plea was spoken to the deepest recesses of her mind, and her eyes were drawn back to where the Darkling stood, cold and beautiful, wreathed in night. Alina was swallowed whole by the sight of him. She could drown in it.

And she realised she knew. She had known all along this was exactly where she was meant to be. He knew it too. He had just had an eternity to come to terms with it.

His face was stone, but his eyes were burning. With purpose, with possessiveness, with devotion.

And it thrilled her to her core.

She wanted it. Wanted _him._

"Alright," she breathed. 

The Darkling's eyes flickered in disbelief and his fingers stretched further, as though he thought she would vanish once she made the admission. As if he believed she could ever run from him again.

"Alina, no!" Mal grabbed her by the arm and wrenched her back from where she had already taken several steps forward subconsciously.

She had almost entirely forgotten he was there. 

“I can’t run from what I am, Mal, from what I’m becoming. I can’t bring the Alina you knew back, she was a daydream. Let her go.”

Mal stared at her in disbelief.

“You can’t … you can’t choose him.”

“There isn’t any choice to make. This is what was meant to be.” It was true. she felt it in her soul. For the first time in weeks, she felt strong.

Mal persisted and yanked at her arm again, trying to drag her away. Making the choice for her. She felt irritation rise. It tasted sour on her tongue.

Alina looked distastefully down at the dirty fingers gripping her shoulder and instinctively snarled at him. She bared her teeth and her deepest self and watched him shrink from it.

Let him see what he had hoped he would stifle within her. The face of who she really was.

Powerful.

She felt a wave of something sink into her very soul and watched gleefully as the boy's face paled, eyes fixed on her hair. A dim glow reflected in his eyes and put the terror in his face into stark relief. He had always been afraid of her power. It was the orphan he wanted, someone who would depend on him, who would live a quiet life across the sea, forever quiet, forever hidden.

Not her.

Without sparing him a second glance, she shrugged out of his grasp and turned back to the Darkling. Piercing him with the intention in her gaze, she took a resolute step forward. 

“Alina!” Mal shouted again. She heard scuffling behind her and knew Tolya had taken hold of him. “Alina!” His voice was raw white wood, torn from the heart of a tree. She did not turn.

All her life she had hidden from monsters. And in doing so, she had hidden from the one she had living within herself most of all.

No more hiding.

No more.

Another step.

And again. 

Any lingering doubts faded away as she drew close enough for his shadows to curl possessively around her ankles and her pace picked up until she was running the last steps, bypassing the Darkling’s outstretched hand and flinging herself into his arms.

Claiming him. As he claimed her.

She buried her face into his neck and breathed deeper than she had in years. The weight of his arms around her felt like the belonging she had been looking for her entire life.

 _Free._ She was finally free.

He gripped her fiercely, her feet hovering just off the floor, and spun them away in a whirlwind of shadow.

They materialised in a dim palace corridor, but she didn't bother to absorb much more than that. Whatever show of power she had released to scare off Mal had exhausted her. She lay her head on the Darkling's shoulder and let her eyes close. He wordlessly pressed his lips to her jaw and scooped her up, cradling her against his chest.

She sank into the blissful darkness and let him carry her away.


	2. Mirrors

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I am too excited by this idea to not update again. I'll have to fit the updates around all my med school work (yikes) but I am determined.

Alina was in a dark room when she awoke. The first thing she registered was the softness of the furs and blankets she was buried in. They smelled of fresh linen, and she took a minute to breathe it in, at peace. Her mind spooled in the blissful purgatory between slumber and waking, and she simply allowed herself to relish the feeling of comfort.

There was another scent interlaced with the bedding, though.

Smoke.

She bolted awake, and with it her memories of the battle bubbled to the surface. The attack. The defeat. The surrender. The embrace. The absurdity of her impulsive decision settled in her mind. She squinted, but the room was too dark to make out more than the outline of her own hands, so she lit a small orb of candlelight in her palm to get a view of her surroundings.

She had never been here before, but she immediately recognised the room’s décor. Blue and white panelling with gaudy golden accents on all the furniture. She was at the Great Palace. 

She didn’t yet possess the wherewithal to unravel all that that implied. 

She noted she was still in her charred kafta from the dinner which accounted for the scent of burning. At least someone thought to remove her boots before putting her in a clean bed. 

She sat in the dimness and stared at the glowing orb in her palm, mulling over the attack. Her mind was a complicated blend of emotions. She ached with loss, the harrowing sight of Sergei cradling Marie’s ruined body scarred on her eyelids. There had been so much blood, so much darkness everywhere - the very air had suffocated with it. But there was another feeling too, one that simultaneously terrified and thrilled her: Curiosity.

What possibilities lay before her now she had embraced the power within herself? She had never thought of herself as fighting for a cause, but she had been horrified by the massacre of Novokribirsk, and her desire to let the Darkling’s demons swallow him whole had been no flight of fancy. He had collared her, and she had left him to die. He had threatened to torture her and had blinded his own mother for her betrayal. He was capable of unspeakable things. He had done unspeakable things, but -

But.

A part of her - something she had always tried to smother - thirsted for the power he offered. She felt the emptiness of her left wrist keenly, the lack of a weight there throwing her off-kilter. She _needed_ Morozova’s third amplifier. The Darkling had just given her the opportunity to be selfish for once. 

She realised what she had said to Mal in the Little Palace wasn’t entirely right. It hadn’t been a choice of the Darkling over Mal. It was power she had chosen. The chance to be free and to be herself.

A lingering sadness remained when she thought of Mal. Not for him, but for the girl she had been. That she had been so foolish and blinded by a childish infatuation, that she had suppressed the very thing that made herself who she was. She had starved herself of her powers for years, made herself weak and fragile all so that she could stay with him. And then he never noticed her, flirting and sleeping with other girls, while she slowly wasted away. And still she had hung on, in the hope that he would one day look up and _see_ her.

And then when she finally had hope he had begun to see her as someone he could love, as someone worthy of his attention - maybe even someone attractive, he had placed a scarf around her neck and met her with the constant refrain of _don’t_ and _you can’t do that here_ , when she tried using her powers. So she had stifled herself again. For their safety.

She had settled for making herself weak if it meant he would stay with her. And then Nikolai had shown her the power she could have - the worship of the people had become a heady thing - and when she could no longer be muted, Mal had shrunk back, breaking her heart. 

He was afraid of her - she knew that now, afraid of her letting the orphan die and becoming someone overrun with greed for power.

But that was what he didn’t understand. Yes, she wanted that power, it felt like her very soul called out to complete the triad of amplifiers, but she had a second dream, too. She wanted to belong. Just that. She wanted to have somewhere where she could be who she was without putting on a spectacle, without starving and hiding herself. And if no-one would give that to her, she would take it. She would forge that world with her own bare hands and prove to herself that she was so much more than just an orphan.

_You and I are going to change the world._

_I should have worn the black kafta_ , she thought. Why try to fit in if it required diminishing herself? Humbling herself? What if she could change the rules instead? Only two people had ever understood that as she did. The Darkling, and Nikolai.

Nikolai. Her heart ached for him and the world he had tried to build. He would have made a wonderful king - but the world was too dark and twisted for his goodness right now.

_I’ll get them out and come back. I promise._

_Don’t,_ she thought guiltily, _I’m not sure you’ll like what you’ll find._

She could only hope he did the smart thing and stayed away.  
She was growing restless just thinking about it, so she decided to attempt to find a servant or guard who could enlighten her to what had happened after the fight ended. She was kicking herself now, for not seeing the battle to its end, for not negotiating on behalf of the Grisha. They had looked to her, followed her, and she had abandoned them on the Darkling’s good faith, letting herself collapse in his arms.

The room beyond her cocoon of blankets was the kind of icy that came with emptiness and she was debating whether she could walk the halls swaddled in bedding when she spotted a fur-lined cloak lay over the back of the chair at the dresser. She pulled it over her shoulders and set to looking for her boots.

After a minute of fruitless searching, she resigned herself to wandering about the palace barefoot and followed her little light out the door and down the silent hallway.

She didn’t know where she was going - or what she was particularly looking for, but she felt a compulsion to walk and followed where the tug of her instincts guided her.

The Palace was eerily silent, not a soul to be found in the hallways, and the shadows danced like demons up the walls as she passed. What had happened here? And what had they done with her shoes?

She came to a tall landing lined on all sides by great portraits of the Kings and Queens of Ravka. Their shadowed faces took on a ghoulish quality and she studied them in the dimness as she passed.

They all posed with straight spines and fierce expressions and she had a moment of doubt as she appraised them. She could never be the painted lady the Queen had been, never sit quietly while her husband entertained an obnoxious court and drank himself into a stupor. No, she would never be caged again.

One of the portraits featured a woman with golden hair that could have been the same shade as Nikolai’s. But, of course, it couldn’t be. She was staring forlornly out of the frame, and even the artist’s efforts to give her a rosy glow could not distract from the tired sadness in her eyes. A woman at the ends of her strength.

Alina silently vowed to the painting that her new world would be different.

She ran her fingers along the walls as she wandered down hallway after hallway, not a guard in sight. Her fingertips came away with a fine film of dust, as though no-one had been in this wing of the castle for quite a while. Indeed, the corridor she was in was lined in marble figures sheathed in cloth. Like lost spirits lying dormant.

She realised her feet had brought her to a dark doorway at the end of the hall. It was covered in carvings of what appeared to be wolves and forest fae. Myths from childhood fairy tales - the type she had always listened to with apt concentration when Ana Kuya deemed to read to them at Keramzin. She extended a hand to run her finger along the tail of a wyvern being slain by a mob wielding pitchforks and it reminded her a little of the sea whip. A beautiful creature. Too beautiful for this world.

The door swung open abruptly before she could try the handle and she tensed. She brought the light forward and her breath caught in her throat when she realised the Darkling stood in the doorway, staring at her.

The look in his eyes was indecipherable.

Neither one of them spoke, seemingly unable to reduce their emotions to mere words in that moment.

Alina found herself captivated, as she always was, by his sculpted features. They were unnaturally beautiful, to the point that it was almost difficult to look at him. His eyes alone left her weak in the knees, insensible to reason. She realised in all her pondering, she had neglected to dissect what _this_ was - what exactly they were to each other. 

“Do you have my shoes?” she blurted. 

He blinked as though pulled back to the present from wherever his mind had wandered.

Alina flushed and silently chastised herself for being so ridiculous.

“Alina,” he murmured, “You’re still here.” his tone was a soft, bewildered surprise.

“Of course,” she replied, brow furrowing.

He appeared to shake himself then, and his mouth twitched in amusement as he looked down at her bare feet.

“No, little faerie, I don’t have your shoes,” he chuckled, “I didn’t think you’d want to keep them since they were rather... permanently stained.”

 _With blood_ , he didn’t say.

“Oh,” was all she could muster in reply.

He didn’t seem bothered by the silence, he reached out tentatively and touched the small orb of light before him with an inquisitive finger. It flickered a little but remained strong. It was magnetized by his darkness, rather than repelled by it, and when he extended a tendril of shadow, the orb held constant, but the patterns of shadows flitted over his face.

“You have wonderful control,” he said softly, “You’ve been practising.”

It was hardly a question but Alina nodded anyway.

“It feels like you,” he mused, taking on a curious expression.

It was a surprisingly intimate admission, and Alina felt her face heat abominably. She broke her quietude to push away the memory of his lips on her jaw and the perplexing flutter in her chest.

“What happened after the battle?” she asked, remembering her initial purpose in going out, “After I... after we left?”

He didn’t take his eyes off the light as he spoke, but she thought she saw a hint of amusement in his eye at her hesitation. “I let them go, as I said I would.” He rolled his eyes when he caught her doubtful expression, “ I _did_ , although, it appears you have far more influence than even I anticipated - the sun soldiers surrendered and stayed to follow you.”

“They did?” she asked, bewildered.

“Indeed. They refused to abandon their Sankta and pleaded to continue their mission to defend her righteous will,” he said, only a hint of derision in his tone.

Alina mulled over this unexpected discovery. She had assumed that in changing sides, she was abandoning her saint status and all the support that went with it. She had known her betrayal would come at a steep price. Even though she was confident in her decision, she had expected to be continuing from this point alone. Well, alone aside from _him_. He would never leave her isolated. Not really. They were bound in some way, some inexplicable connection that she feared went deeper than she had the capacity to understand. Loathe as she was to admit it, however, the news of the sun soldier's loyalty was not unwelcome. She needed all the support she could get in this place. She wasn't fool enough to believe she was anything but far out of her depth - she needed to press any advantage she could. “Where are they now?” she asked.

He gave her a flat look, “With the rest of the defectors who chose to stay - in the dungeons.”

She narrowed her eyes, “And why are they there?”

He raised an eyebrow at her, “I can’t very well take them at their word, now can I?”

She scoffed, fighting the urge to clip him upside the head. Or wrap her hands around his throat and _squeeze_ , “Not everyone is as deceitful as you".

“They could be plotting my demise as we speak,”

“So could I, might I add, or have you forgotten how you got those scars?” she bit, her sense of self-preservation overwhelmed by her ire. She fought a wince as she heard the words a second too late. Ah. They hadn't talked about that. She kept her gaze firm but internally braced herself for a volatile reaction. He was far too close, and the betrayal was far too fresh, for the reference to not rile him up. That had been her intention, of course, but her mouth always tended to run before her good sense could catch up. He was a lethal predator. She knew that. A dangerous entity, and her guard should be up at all times.

He smiled, showing teeth.

“No,” he purred, “How could I?”

She huffed and averted her eyes from his penetrating gaze. Too close.

“You will release them, immediately.”

“Will I?”

“Yes,” she affirmed, lifting her chin, “If they are loyal to me, then they have just as much right to be here as I do.”

“And what if they endeavour to make a martyr of you as the old Apparat intended?”

She only glared at him.

He appraised her silently, as though taking a measure of her sincerity. After a moment, he conceded. “You can come with me tomorrow, and help me ascertain their loyalties before we decide their fate.”

She accepted his terms with a flinty nod. Relieved at least that he seemed willing to negotiate with her. She could use that.

He had taken on a pensive look again, “Why are you here, Alina?” he murmured.

She blinked. “I was looking for my shoes.”

“No,” he said, ever patient, “Why are you _here?_ ”

He was hoping to intimidate her, she could tell. He wouldn’t treat her softly or coddle her, he wanted to know if she was really with him, or if she had simply wanted to save her friends. She needed to make a statement, something that would put him beyond doubt of her allegiances. Even if she didn't reveal her whole plan just yet.

She tilted her chin, looked him dead in the eye and declared with as much conviction as she could muster, “You and I are going to change the world.”

All amusement left his expression instantly. He searched her eyes and his gaze dug into her like iron talons, red hot from the fire. Whatever he found brought a wave of something entirely _other_ across his face. It made his expression flicker with something like tenderness, before it was gone in a flash. He stepped back and swept a bow, gesturing for her to enter the room, “ _Moya soverennya_."

Lowering himself to her, and only her.

She locked eyes with him as she murmured, “ _Moi soverennyi,_ ” in reply, tilting her head demurely. She felt his scorching gaze on her back as she stepped past him into the large chamber, and forced herself to turn her attention to the room. She appraised what appeared to be a war council chamber filled by a long, misshapen table. The walls were lined with draping blue cloths and woven tapestries that depicted scenes from history and fantasy alike. Her eyes locked on one nearest the door that illustrated a dark entity casting a shadow over the world. _The Fold_ , she realised. She wondered if he'd kept the tapestry as a souvenir. There were several candles burning low at the far end of the table, which was littered with scrolls and papers. She had clearly interrupted his work.

“Do you ever sleep?” she wondered aloud. From what she could tell from the tall windows at the back of the room, it couldn’t be more than a few hours past midnight.

“There are better ways to spend my time,” he responded vaguely. She rolled her eyes, doubting very much that he had lived for hundreds of years with no sleep at all.

She crossed the room to look at his papers but was stopped by the sight of the table. Onto the surface, had been carved an intricate map of Ravka, Fjerda and Shu Han. The various mountain ranges protruded out from the wood, and rivers ran deep grooves to the True Sea on the other end. The Fold stood out starkly as a dark gash that spanned almost the entire length. It was.. beautiful, she thought. Her inner cartographer couldn’t help but admire the detail.

“Is this…?” she trailed off in question as she turned to where the Darkling stood watching her from further down the table.

“Ravka and the surrounding kingdoms,” he said, “Purely decorative, I assure you, although it is quite an accurate replica. This was the Great Palace’s war room until about a hundred years ago when Alexander II wanted it moved closer to his chambers.” His tone was dripping with contempt, “The table is a menace to write on, so it was left here.”

She nodded absently and wandered down to the scattered papers that were propped against the Sirkuzoi mountains, on the north border of Shu Han. She picked up the nearest set and looked at the title - it was a list of the prisoners that were apprehended after the attack. It was a long list. She had a lot of work ahead of her.

She sighed, setting them down. She wasn’t sure she had the energy to go through a list of who exactly she was to see in cells tomorrow. Instead, she looked over at where the Darkling was standing, no more than a metre away, leaning against a chair in South East Ravka.

He was watching her again, with that indecipherable expression of his, and she forced herself not to fidget under his gaze. He took a step forward and her breath caught when he closed the distance between them.

“Together,” she said suddenly, her voice sounding too loud in the cavernous room, “No manacles, no collars. We do this together.”

If he seemed surprised by the outburst, he didn't show it. Something predatory glinted in his eye and it made her skin prickle.

“Together,” he echoed, “As equals.” 

A beat. 

“I have been waiting for you for a long time, Alina,” he whispered.

For some inexplicable reason, the words made her smile a little at the reminder. “I know.”

His lips curved slightly as he took her in.

“You’re tired,” he observed after a minute, “I’ll debrief you in the morning when you’ve slept for a while longer.”

She didn’t respond, hardly daring to breathe with his proximity. It didn’t make any sense, she had ran into his arms only hours ago, but something was different now. Something had thickened the air between them, and it was impossible to ignore. She felt the intensity of his eyes twist something deep in her lower abdomen.

He reached out a hand, and for a split second she thought he was going to touch the light again, until his fingers caught a strand of her hair. She blinked slowly. He seemed content to stand there and twist it as she stared at him.

Her eyes flickered to his mouth. His lips looked... soft. The kind of texture that made her want to bite them, to lick the seam of his mouth just to see what noises he made. The heat in her stomach was positively molten. She was contemplating closing the last few centimetres when he said quietly, “It suits you like this.”

She looked down quizzically at the lock of hair he had been playing with, but did a double take when she realised what he meant.

Her hair was _white_.

She grabbed a handful of hair and gaped at it as it looked pale gold in the candlelight. She manipulated the light to raise its intensity and in the bright white light of day the colour stood out starkly from her black cloak.

“Wh - How -” she was grabbing fistfuls of her hair, trying to see it all, and sure enough, every strand was thick and white as snow. 

Seeming to realise she was panicking, the Darkling grabbed her by the wrists and gently pried her fingers from where she was on the verge of tearing her hair out at the roots. His expression was briefly apologetic as she looked at him with wide eyes.

“Stop,” he demanded, then asked pointedly, “You didn’t know?”

She shook her head and thought back to when this could have happened. No one had said anything, until - “Oh,” she mumbled, thinking of Mal’s expression when she had walked away from him.

The Darkling nodded, guessing she had reached the right conclusion and looked at her for a moment, calculating.

“Do you want to see?” he said.

She nodded warily.

“Come with me.”

***

He led her over to an adjoining room that held a smaller desk and chair and a large painting of a bizarre woodland sprite on one wall. He pulled out the chair and sat it in front of the painting and gestured for her to sit.

She eyed him in bewilderment.

“Humour me,” he insisted.

She narrowed her eyes at him, but took a seat, facing the painting.

“Now focus your light on reflecting on your face, to a flat plane on the glass and back to your eyes.”

She looked at him incredulously.

“Can’t I just have a mirror?”

He held her gaze, “You don’t need one.”

She turned back to the painting reluctantly, and stared at the glass. As much as she protested, she couldn’t deny her curiosity as to how far her powers went. She lit a bright white light in her hand and focused on directing the rays that bounced off her face to the painting in front of her.

“It doesn’t need to be exact, as long as you get some reflection you should be able to see yourself - the more precise you are the sharper the image,” the Darkling’s voice came from somewhere behind her.

The difficult part was keeping the rays uniform as they hit the glass and angling them back towards herself in the same line. Her brow furrowed as she concentrated.

Slowly, as though she were folding pastry, she bent the light to her will and the image of a woman with white hair down to her waist appeared on the surface of the painting.

She gasped and leaned forward, tentatively touching her crown. Her hair from root to tip was ice white. There was no denying it.

She sat back and looked to the Darkling’s reflection standing behind her in the makeshift mirror.

“Do you think it’s permanent?” she asked and immediately felt vain and stupid. People had died only last night and she was upset over her hair.

If the Darkling was thinking the same, he didn’t let it show.

“Perhaps,” he conceded, and considered her reflection thoughtfully, “In embracing our power, we tend to give up something of our human selves in exchange. It seems rather fitting, if you think about it: _Sankta Alina, Sol Koroleva, with eyes of golden fire and hair kissed by moonlight._ ”

Alina shot him a bemused look, “I had no idea you had been a bard in one of your past lives,” she teased lightly.

He smirked and said nothing.

She considered his words, and a thought struck her as she watched him, “Did you ever have to give up something?” she asked, “For your power?”

It could have been a trick of the light, but his expression grew sombre as he dropped her eyes for once.

She mulled over his response all the way back through the silent corridors to her room.

“Yes,” he’d murmured wistfully, “Yes, I did.”


	3. The Commander

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Yes, it's 2am, yes I've been writing for hours, there are probably errors in here somewhere, but ideas are flowing, so we're going with it.  
> cw// This chapter contains mentions of blood and gore.

Five hours of restless sleep later, Alina woke, feeling as though she had taken a frying pan to the head at some point during the night. She couldn’t remember the last time she had slept so poorly.

In the light of day, the window of the suite gave her an unobstructed view of the gardens behind the East wing, and she could just make out the Little Palace where it stood enveloped by trees. Remnants of smoke were curling their way up from the ruins. Her heart twinged with loss.

The Little Palace had perhaps been the closest she had ever come to having a home. She had grown used to her chambers and seeing the mix of blue, red and purple in the Dining hall at meals, training by the lake, meeting with Nikolai in the war room…

The new scent of the bedding here had unsettled her.

She felt displaced, and the prospect of the aftermath she would see today only served to exacerbate her anxiety.

She was suddenly hyper-aware of the layer of soot and grime that covered her skin. She couldn’t see it, but she could have sworn she felt the prickle of dried blood on her arms, too. The guilt that twisted in her stomach was too real for the early hour and she quickly located the adjoining bathroom so she might scour away the feeling. Her mind was racing as she scrubbed her skin raw until it burned. 

Today was just the first hurdle, she had no idea what would be expected of her as the Darkling’s… _soverennya_? Koroleva? She didn’t even know what to call herself. She had a daunting thought that hadn’t plagued her since she first discovered her powers: what if she wasn’t who they thought she was? What if they would see her standing at the Darkling’s side and discover she was a fraud? A worthless orphan in a saint’s skin.

She desperately wanted it to be real. She needed to matter to someone.

She realised as she was bathing, that the texture of her hair had changed with the colour. It had grown somehow thicker and downy, and the weight of it down her back when she stood left her feeling slightly off-balance.

She stared at her reflection in the mirror, gilded in gold on the wall of the bathroom. There was something about her face that looked different, almost older. Her cheekbones stood out more prominently and the pallor of her skin was darker when contrasted with her hair. She couldn’t say she minded the change, her hair had been thin and dull before, and the added memory of the Darkling saying it suited her endeared her to the look somewhat.

She chastised herself for caring what he thought. She didn’t need his compliments to feel comfortable with herself. She liked her hair. It _did_ suit her. 

She had no idea what was in store for her today. The uncertainty was as unnerving as it was liberating.

Drying herself quickly, she was just about to pull her clothes back on when a timid knock came to the door.

She panicked momentarily, thinking she would have to answer the door to the Darkling dressed only in a towel, but when she reached out with her instincts that always seemed to know when he was near, she found him elsewhere.

Still not wanting to open the door in her current state, she looked around hastily and pulled on the black cloak she had found last night, before hesitantly turning the handle and peering around the door.

“ _Genya?_ ”

Alina stood and stared uncomprehendingly at Genya standing in her red kafta in the hallway, looking uncomfortable. Her face was beautiful, as it always was, but there was now a very prominent red scar that ran down the length of the left side of her face.

She clutched the pile of folded black fabric she was holding like a shield as she asked, “Can I come in?”

Alina wordlessly held the door wider for her to enter. Before she had even fully turned around, Alina heard her start, “I know I -”

She cut herself off and fidgeted, then appeared to think better of whatever she was going to say.

She stepped forward and tentatively passed the heap of fabric that, upon closer inspection, Alina realised was a kafta with gold embroidery.

A black kafta.

“He thought you might want a change of clothes,” Genya said.

Alina nodded.

She bit back the spike of irritation she felt at knowing exactly what the Darkling had intended by giving her this. There would be no denying their alliance once she dressed herself in his colours. It was a mark of possession.

Genya was setting down a pair of black and gold leather boots and she looked on the verge of slipping as fast as she was able out the door when Alina gently caught her arm.

Alina conveyed as much understanding with her eyes as she could, “Thank you,” she said earnestly, “For these, and for letting us go.”

Genya looked down at the hand on her arm, “I didn’t want you to be trapped here. I should have done more.”

Alina shook her head.

“You did more than enough,” she said, finding Genya’s palm and giving her hand a firm squeeze, “Did he -” she hesitated, “Did he hurt you for it?”

Genya gave a small, rueful smile and touched the scar on her face. It puckered and pulled at her skin as though it hadn’t quite been allowed to heal properly.

“Not directly, but I was punished,” she gave a small laugh, “They call me _Razrusha’ya_ now, among the Grisha ranks, when they think I can’t hear them.”

 _Razrusha’ya_. Ruined

Her voice was deceptively light, but Alina could hear the strain in it. She had been branded a traitor for her, for the others, and Alina had ended up here anyway.

It occurred to her that this was likely another sort of test from the Darkling - to see if she would try and use Genya to aid any plans she had to contact the rebels. She sighed internally, they would need to learn to trust each other if this alliance was ever going to work, but it was beginning to look like more and more of an unattainable ambition.

Nevertheless, Alina was determined. All that suffering, all that loss, it would not be for nothing. For she would make something of the world yet.

She brought Genya’s hand to her lips and kissed the back fiercely. There was so much that needed to be said to each other, and even then their friendship may never be as it once was, but Alina could but try. Genya had been her first friend, her confidante, and she hoped that she could count on the fact that at least some aspects of it had been real.

Because she would need allies of her own if she was to survive this place.

“Could you help me with my hair?” she asked, “I can never quite manage it as you did.”

The smile that lit the Corporalki’s face was warm and genuine.

***

Alina sat at the dresser as her hair was brushed and dried and let Genya talk. She seemed as relieved to unburden herself of the story as much as Alina was distraught to hear it. Even so, it felt good to have Genya there; left her feeling a little more grounded. The woman’s words flowed with her fingers as she worked her tiny miracles.

As Nikolai’s ship had fled with Alina aboard, the Fabrikators on hand had been desperately trying to fix the wound to the boat’s hull that Alina had Cut. Seething with rage, the Darkling had demanded to know how the prisoners escaped and, knowing her fate would be far worse if she were caught in a lie, Genya told him how Tolya and Tamar had freed Mal and Alina and how she had watched them kill Ivan before letting them go.

He had told her that if she wished to remain in his service, she would have to prove her loyalty, and promptly threw her overboard.

She would have surely died of hypothermia within hours had she not discovered one of the smaller scouting boats was still intact after the attack of the sea whip. She had crawled aboard and lain there, freezing, as she watched the Darkling’s vessel return in the direction of the mainland until it was out of sight. She had sat there until dusk, fully expecting to suffer a slow, agonising death. Her healing abilities helped her somewhat in fighting off delirium and frostbite, but she had no sails, only had a knife in her sleeve and she wasn’t Etherealki - she couldn’t direct the tide or the wind. And, although the sea whip was dead, she wasn’t naive enough to believe it was the only creature inhabiting those waters.

“The hopelessness was the worst part,” she said, focusing on the braid she was weaving, “I was… _so sure_ , that I would die there, cold and alone, with no one for hundreds of miles to even know where I was, or care that I was missing or dead.”

She sighed, “No one to mourn me.”

“I would have mourned you,” was all the response that Alina could offer.

Genya just smiled indulgently and continued speaking.

“It was well into the night when something knocked against the hull of the boat, and I was so terrified that there was some creature in the water, that I didn’t dare move for almost an hour. Whatever it was kept tapping and knocking every now and again, always on one side, always in rhythm with the waves. It was probably due to my exhaustion that it took me as long as it did to realise it was an object floating in the water, rather than an animal. 

“When I reached over the side, it was long and stiff, almost frozen solid, but as desperate as I was, I started paddling with it. I didn’t know where I was going, or whether it was even going to work, but I clung to the idea of doing _something_ other than just laying down to die. I knew if I was lucky, the tide would carry me inland where I might be spotted by another boat - I just had to stay awake, keep breathing and keep paddling.

“I stayed awake all night, desperate to find a current that would take me ashore, but in the light of the dawn, I realised two things: I was in the middle of the ocean, with not a scrap of land or another boat in sight, and the thing I had been so urgently paddling with, was a severed leg.”

Alina gasped in horror.

Genya had stopped all pretense of fixing her hair and sat down on the end of the bed. Smoothing her hand over the covers with a kind of reverence.

“I suppose it would be disgusting,” she conceded, “Horrifying even, to anyone else. To anyone less desperate to survive. But I had already been at it for hours, and really, I thought, what difference did it make? So I kept going.”

Alina stood quietly from her chair and sat next to the girl on the bed, taking her hand in a show of wordless solidarity.

“I must have gotten somewhat further inland, because after another two days and a half, keeping my metabolism low and sleeping as little as I possibly could, I spotted a hunting boat on the horizon. I must have been moving further south, because the leg was thawing and starting to bleed again. I had thought myself inconceivably fortunate that the boat turned my way - that it had spotted me somehow - and the hope was so vivid after so long, I felt sure I would have cried had my body been in any fit shape to afford such a thing.

“But,” she laughed bitterly, “I am not exactly a lucky woman. The boat had been hunting a knife-tailed _akula_ and it had scented the blood in the water.”

 _Akula_ in general were incredibly dangerous; large fleshy bodies the size of horses, with fins as strong as steel and a venomous bite. But Alina remembered something Nikolai had told her of a skirmish he had had with the knife-tailed variety. They were perhaps twice as big and had a long blade-like tail that it used to slice open the hulls of ships. Or disembowel small whales.

_“What did you do?” she had asked Nikolai, “How do you kill something like that?”_

_“You don’t,” he’d said grimly. “Believe me, Alina, I don’t ever wish to encounter one of those things again. There’s a reason I started designing ships that could fly.”_

Alina felt the blood drain from her face.

Genya had been so focused on the incoming boat that the _akula_ had managed to get within almost a hundred metres of her before she saw it, its great tail parting the waves like a guillotine. In the heartbeat between realising what it was and noticing the small stain of blood she was leaving in the water, the _akula_ had halved the distance between them. She knew that if she were to throw the leg, the cloud of blood her boat was sitting in would likely still draw it in, so her only other option was to swim for the boat that could surely see her now, if it hadn’t before, and hope she got there in time before the _akula_ smelled her and her much fresher meat.

“Could you not have killed it?” Alina asked, “Stopped its heart?”

“After three days on the verge of hypothermia with no food or water?” Genya asked, “No, probably not. Or that’s what I tell myself at least. At the time… I had only been training as a Heartrender for a few months - it didn’t even cross my mind.”

She looked so ashamed by such an admission that Alina felt compelled to grip her hand tighter, “I understand.”

Genya squeezed her hand gratefully, “In any case, I split my chances, threw the leg a short distance to the left, waited for the monster to switch course and dove out of the other side of the boat. The water was so cold, like knives in my skin, and my limbs were so weak from starvation that I sank immediately. I did what I could to keep moving, to stay afloat, but the current was pulling me under. 

“And then I felt the _akula_ change course, and I knew it was coming for me. 

“I just followed my instincts, I went towards it, hoping that if I could get behind it, I remembered hearing somewhere that _akula_ -”

“Can’t swim backwards,” Alina finished as the answer dawned.

Genya nodded, “So I managed to dodge it at the last second and grabbed onto its tail.”

“That’s insane,” Alina exclaimed in half-horror, half-admiration.

A genuine chuckle this time.

“Yes, that’s what they told me. Before it could turn around, I straddled it, and let it drag me towards the ship as it tried to shake me off, then pulled the knife from my sleeve and tried to cut off its tail.”

She reached her free hand up to finger the slice running down her face, “It thrashed, and got me right in the face with the tip of the blade. But I held on and kept sawing, even when I couldn’t see for the blood. Once it couldn’t swim, the hunting boat sent down a harpoon and killed it where it lay in the water. They pulled me out, drenched and covered in blood of all kinds. 

“I nearly died several times on the trip to Weddle in Novyi Zem, it was only my own powers that stopped me bleeding out, or losing my eye to infection. It could have been worse, I suppose, the hunters that picked me up could have been Fjerdans and executed me for witchcraft, but as it was, they kept me alive and gave me a portion of the money they sold the akula tail for which was enough to buy me passage to Os Kervo and then some.”

Genya met Alina’s inquiring eyes briefly, “I know what you’re thinking,” she said, “Why didn’t I run then? I could have stayed away for good - hidden away, letting everyone assume I was dead and lived comfortably. At peace.” 

She smiled wistfully, and appraised Alina who was still sitting in her cloak with her hair half-done. She reached up and tilted the other girl’s face up by the chin, examining her.

“Peace. It’s a lovely dream. But I suppose you will understand as well as anyone that that’s not what I wanted. I knew the cost of coming back, and I realised I would gladly pay it; I would do it all again, for a chance to live in the world we mean to build. No more hiding.”

She touched her scar again, and Alina thought she detected a hint of pride in the girl she had missed before. “I find I don’t mind the scar anymore. It reminds me. Of why I’m here, of why I kept fighting.” She shrugged, “It reminds me that I fought a knife-tailed _akula_ and _won_.”

A weight seemed to have lifted from the girl’s shoulders and the two shared tentative smiles.

“Plus,” she added with no small amount of satisfaction, “When I got back, the Darkling made me his second-in-command and Commander of the Heartrenders in his army.” She gestured to the blue ribbon pinned on the left side of her chest, the Ravkan Silver Star of Gallantry obvious now she pointed it out. Alina found she understood. Becoming aware of your own potential was a thrilling feeling. One that the Darkling seemed to universally inspire.

“Now,” Genya said, squeezing Alina’s hand once more before getting up, setting her shoulders, “What do you want me to do with your hair?”

A simple question, but Alina knew Genya hadn’t just told her that story for sympathy.

She thought of the Darkling. Of how he had thrown Genya overboard expecting her to die, of how he had blinded his own mother and created a dark army with merzost, chained her and collared her and seduced her so that he might control her power. So that he might keep her.

But she was also thinking of his expression after he had first kissed her, as if it had been just as much a surprise to him as it had been to her. Of the gleam in his eyes last night when he had touched her orb of light and said it felt like her, when she’d echoed his words back to him and he’d looked so caught off guard, he hadn’t managed to conceal the flicker of disbelief before she noticed it.

What did the Darkling want more than anything? 

He had power, he had control over most of Ravka. He wanted freedom for the Grisha, yes, that much was clear. She believed he loved Ravka - as surely as Nikolai did. The Darkling was simply unafraid of wading through the blood and ruins of his enemies and sacrificing everything else to forge his new world. He had lost so much, and it was clear the centuries had taught him to believe that power was all he could trust.

But they were ambitions. What did he _want?_

_The problem with wanting, is that it makes us weak._

The answer came to her, clear as day, and a plan was slowly forming in her head.

Genya seemed to notice the change in Alina’s eyes because slowly, her face slid into a knowing smirk.

He thought he knew what he wanted. He thought he knew what she was capable of.

Alina smiled.

He was wrong.

“You're going to make me the _soverennya_.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Let me know what you think of this chapter!


End file.
